


Subtext and Context

by Veei



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veei/pseuds/Veei
Summary: Freshly engaged to Joffrey and miserable at his lakehouse, Sansa gets a taste of Sandor's special brand of brutal honesty.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	Subtext and Context

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, I'm not finishing this anytime soon. It's a bad year for me but maybe next spring I will feel like writing again. I just feel bad seeing this sitting in drafts for two years. 
> 
> For K. Taken too soon, loved still.

_"Forget about Prince Charming. Go for the wolf. He can see better, hear you better, and eat you better."_

Tracking her through the stubborn perfume of wild honeysuckle, the beast had caught Sansa’s scent. 

She stopped running and gathered the long hem of her nightgown. There was no hope to outrun it, not barefoot and clad in a thin shift, and unlike her, the creature would not lose itself in the woods. But if she circled back and hid well enough, she could wait for the monster to pass her by, not letting her heavy breaths betray her, and run back to safety. 

And maybe by then, she would remember why she had started running.

She took sharp turns and doubled back several times, took care not to step on soft earth to leave prints to trail her by, and when she could hear the beast no more, she crouched in the biggest, most fragrant bush she could find, and prayed. The night was at its darkest and through the lush of the forest she could not see the lights of where she had been. 

A couple of seconds passed, tolled by the hammering of her heart. The beast emerged from the thicket and as Sansa hoped it would disappear again, it _stopped_. It sniffed the air in a way that showed it knew she was close by. A cold dagger ran down Sansa’s back. 

Her trembling gave her away. The snout broke from between branches, sniffing the crown of her hair.

“Get out.”, it ordered softly. Sansa obeyed, pulling on her nightgown with shaking hands to free it from the thorns, and in the emerging moonlight she saw only the outline of her hunter. It stood bigger than a man, and frighteningly still.

“Please.”, she begged, hugging the thin fabric to her heart. 

“Why did you run?”, the beast asked in a curious, strangely melodic voice. Its eyes never left her. 

“You chased _me_.”, Sansa answered, bewildered. Wasn’t it what beasts did? Chasing, hunting. And when the fun was had, killing. 

The beast laughed a cruel knowing laugh and rose to its full height. Its fur slipped to the ground. He stretched paws that were really hands and his mouth was full of teeth, but devoid of fangs. 

“I ran because you ran.”, he snarled and soon his mouth was at her throat. 

* * *

“Sansa!” A voice tore through her terror. Sansa brought her arms up to fight off the beast but it grabbed her wrists and brought them over her head, exposing her even more to its mouth. “Sansa!” It shouted out her name again, and Sansa’s eyes flew open, determined to at least face her attacker if she couldn't escape it.

She recognized Sandor’s sullen face inches from hers. She blinked, reality starting to assert itself after a few seconds. She was in bed. She was safe. 

“Sandor? What's going on?”, she asked, breathless. 

He let go of her hands, realizing how close they were. He almost looked concerned for her, but she knew him too well to believe that. For him to be in her bedroom, at night, something bad must have happened. 

“You had a nightmare, you were screaming bloody murder. I heard you from my room.”

Understanding came. A _dream_? Yes, there were traces of it still in her conscious state. The creature tracking her, touching her. The woods and the branches. The honeysuckle. The certainty the monster would eat her. It all seemed so real. 

“Oh… I'm sorry. I woke you?”

“No.”, he scowled like she had. 

Since coming to the lakehouse, her sleep had been unrest and nightmares.

The days were not better. The lake was beautiful, in a tamed and artificial kind of way. But there was nothing much to do of the long burning hours under the sun besides swimming, tanning, napping. It was too hot to study, and anyway, Joffrey and her had decided she would not go back to class next fall. 

Megga and Alla had left to camp in the wild for a couple of days. Arya and Gendry would not be back from their hike before the end of the week. It left Joffrey, Sansa, Margaery and Sandor with nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company. It was supposed to be the perfect holiday, but Sansa was bored, lonely and failing to come to terms with what being engaged to Joffrey was shaping up to be.

“I wasn't asleep.”, Sandor continued, “By the way, you've been binging horror movies for two weeks and none of you morons staying at a _lakehouse_ in the middle of nowhere thought of locking the door.” He shook his head. “What did you dream about?”

“A werewolf, I think.”, she answered without thinking and winced, he would make sure to bring it up at the worst possible moment to embarrass her. 

Sandor didn't like her very much and lately it seemed it had only gotten worse. Now that she thought of it, those might be the first words he directly addressed her in weeks. 

Untrue to himself, Sandor spared her. Sansa turned to wake Joffrey, who could sleep through anything apparently, but Joffrey was… gone. Sandor sighed in frustration behind her and Sansa braced for another acerbic comment. 

“It's been going on for a while.”, he said, and the sorry tone he took worried Sansa more than she thought it could. 

“What?”

“Him and Margaery. It's not the first time.”

His words were like a punch in the gut. Anger flared in her, at his tone, the implication, the three years of buildup resentment she had for this giant posterboy for dark masculinity. 

“Wh… What are you talking about?”

He pulled the curtain open and Sansa threw the covers aside to get out of bed. It didn't matter that they were alone together. It didn’t matter that the beast from her dream had Sandor’s voice and foreboding presence and that its kiss had been soft. It didn't matter that she wore almost nothing and that from up there he could probably see all the way down the front of her nightgown. 

She looked. 

Outside the night sky was still as black as Yi Ti ink, there was no trace yet of the watercolour light of dawn on the horizon. At first, she couldn’t see a thing but outlines of trees along the shore but the clouds parted and Sansa gasped, the blood freezing in her veins. The silhouettes were dark and blurry, but there was no mistaking their identity. Nor their occupation in the moonlight or the rhythmic ripple of the water around them. 

Sansa staggered back, her heart beating like a feverish drum in her ears. She turned to look at Sandor who had the politeness _for once_ to look abashed. But that didn't last long. 

“Usually they go farther.”

Sansa looked at him, blinking like it could erase this whole night if she tried hard enough. She was too incredulous to scream. 

“He makes you drink because it makes you sleepy.”, he explained, no longer sorry but visibly annoyed. “He usually waits for you to snore to leave. But tonight, you got sick.”

“...You've really seen me under all my good angles…”, Sansa reeled as realization set in. It was like the air had been forced out of her lungs.

“Your boyfriend is _skinny dipping_ with someone else, and what you care about, is me hearing you vomit.” His jaw was set in his usual way, his ‘i-can-snap-you-in-half-just-you-give-me-a-reason’ way. 

“Fiance.”, she corrected automatically and swore inwardly. 

“Fiance. Right.”, he amended through gritted teeth, the scars pulling around his mouth. He pointed to the window. “Wouldn't want to disrespect _him_.”

She ignored Sandor, ignored the urge to kill him on his feet. There were more pressing concerns right now than his opinion of her. 

“I can’t believe it. He proposed... a month ago.”

“You want to take a closer look?”, Sandor grabbed the curtain. He was not done arguing, done rubbing it in her face.

“No!”, she closed them again, a twisting pain in her stomach. “This is funny to you?”

“There's comedic potential. Sure.”, he shrugged. 

“Do you sometimes pause being an asshole because now would be the time.” 

Sansa had tried everything over the last three years to get along with Sandor, but if he wanted a fight _now_ , he would get it. 

“Hey, I'm not the one getting engaged to the lecher of Casterly Rock.”

If he wasn't so tall, she might slap him. Though she doubted he would feel anything if she did. At 6 feet 8, and proud owner of a gym membership and a sneer, he could probably bend solid steel like a cheap spoon. 

“Look. You're better off, trust me. Go back to sleep, you'll sort it out in the morning.” 

He headed for the door. 

“Sleep? Are you kidding?” She shook her head to clear her mind of the image that wouldn’t leave. “I can't stay here.”

He looked at her dragging her suitcase from under the bed, frowning. “You’re not going anywhere, it's one in the fucking morning and this is the middle of nowhere.”

“What do you want me to do? Get out and confront them? You think they'll care?”

He barked a laugh, and Sansa couldn't have said if he laughed at the comment, at the idea, or at her. 

“...Probably not.” 

“There. I'm going home.”

His shoulders tensed up like they always did before saying something particularly unpleasant. But he sighed and they dropped. “Fine! Pack up, get dressed. I’ll drive you.”

She gave him a guarded glance. “Why? I can call a cab.”

“You think it will arrive before they come back?”

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath, fighting off the fresh wave of nausea. This was one of the rare occasions when Sandor was nice to her. Sansa never knew how to react to those. She nodded cautiously. 

“Ok... Thanks. But I reserve the right to jump out the window.”

“Suit yourself.”, he shrugged and opened the door. “Don't scratch the paint on your way out.”

* * *

The lull of the engine hypnotised Sansa to the cusp of sleep. For an old beat up thing, Sandor’s pickup truck ran so smoothly, it almost purred. If she only looked out the window, then she could act like nothing had happened. That she had never dated Joffrey, never stayed. She could imagine that she didn’t forego the archeological dig that he had decided wasn’t that important to her. She could pretend that she was on her way to someplace nice, and not running away in the night like the coward she was. 

She had watched Sandor put the suitcases in the back of his pickup, wondering when he would comment on the noises they could hear Joffrey and Margaery making. He had never lasted this long with her, Gods, she hated them both. But Sandor looked more furious than she felt. 

She didn’t text anyone yet. How would she explain that to her parents? Robb and Jon would probably try to beat up Joffrey. Arya would not _try_ , she would annihilate him. And pull Rickon and Bran into whatever scheme she would concoct. 

The lights of the interstate, far to the horizon pulled Sansa out of her reverie. 

“Wait… This isn’t the r-... Where are you going?”

Sandor stared right ahead and switched to high beams. There was only a deserted backroad stretching into darkness. Now that she was paying attention, Sansa felt the vibrations of the uneven ground. 

“There's a spot I want to show you before you go. At least the last memory you'll have of here won't make you cringe.”

“Why…”, she started and gave up immediately, he would do what he wanted anyway. Why shouldn't this night be more weird?

“I won’t cut you into little pieces and eat the choice parts, relax.”

“Yes. That's not worrisome or specific.”

He smirked at that. Sansa wanted to be angry at him but what was the point? After tonight they would probably never see each other again. He was Joffrey’s friend, had been for years when she met him. There was no reason to think this whole debacle would affect that. 

All the harsh words vanished from Sansa’s head when she saw where he meant to take her.

At the end of the dirt road he had been driving down was a peak overlooking another lake. Around the lake were no houses with wrap-around porches, no boats, no signs of human life. Only flora and water.

“It's beautiful.”, she admitted with almost no reluctance. 

“Found this when I couldn’t sleep, but that's not what I want to show you.”

He got out and _laid down_ on the hood of his car. Gods, what was he planning now… Cautiously, Sansa imitated him. 

On her back, she saw what he had in mind. This far from the city and light pollution, the night sky was not only black but all hues of dark blue, dotted with silver stars and the clouds were as thin a blur as cotton candy. The elevated ground brought them closer to the milky way slashing the sky. She had never seen it so clear with her own two eyes. 

“The night is too beautiful to find out my fiance is cheating on me.”, she reflected with a shiver. There was a chill in the air that heralded the coming of fall. 

“Better now than later.”, Sandor shrugged in a way she was coming to understand, meant he was merely stating a fact, not commenting on it. 

“You knew.”, she remembered, angry all over again. She rose on her elbows to confront him. “You knew and you didn't tell me.”

“You would have believed me?”, he challenged her, not bothering to get up.

“…yes?”

A half lie, at best. 

She didn't know what she would have believed, but there were no excuses that she could think of _not_ to tell her. No matter that he could not stand her very presence. 

“I should have said something.”, he agreed. “But now that you know it's not a ‘mistake’, or ‘just one time’, you won't give that moron the benefit of the doubt.”

“Isn’t he your friend?”, she frowned. The more she got to know him, the less she understood Sandor.

He laughed. “Insulting me again? Well, yeah, I guess he was once. But you think there are a lot of options? When you look like me?”

His scars were ghastly, she would not insult him by pretending otherwise. But his attitude was really what pushed people away. He had preconceived ideas of people and acted upon them. And his moral standards were ridiculously high for someone who had trouble practicing basic courtesy. She had seen him smile genuinely two, maybe three times. 

“No.”, she shook her head. “Not looking _at_ people the way you do.”

“Oh, it's my fault then.”, he arched his remaining eyebrow. “People look at me like I’m the monster from Skagos but it’s ok because it’s actually all my fault. Thank you Sansa for clearing that up."

“Well… you’ve always hated me from day one and didn't waste time to make that clear. Not even the time to get to know me.”

“I don’t hate you.”, he looked at her like she had said something completely preposterous. “It's idiots I can't stomach. And no, before you get mad, you're not an idiot. You just like playing one.”

He crossed his arms before his massive chest, defying her to pick a fight. He looked ever bigger like that. 

“...Excuse me?”

No, Sandor had never liked her and wasn't shy about it, but Sansa thought they had reached a ceasefire under this night’s circumstances. 

...Apparently that was too much to ask. 

“Screw you, Sandor.” She would not look at him any longer. 

He smirked, she could hear it. “I guess. But look, you’re a history buff, right?”

“History major.”

“Yet you get engaged to someone who thinks beer pong is the height of entertainment. He drags you down. And you know what? You don't even look devastated that he was fucking someone else.”

She refused to turn to face the smug look he no doubt wore. 

“Come on.” She shook her head. “Say it.”

Sansa crossed her arms too. “Just because I'm not throwing a fit doesn't mean I'm not angry.”

“Of course you're angry. He cheated, and believe me, he was not discreet. I know tantrum is not your style, but I'm not talking about that.”

“About what then?”

“You're _relieved_. And it’s not just the thought of longer having Cersei Lannister as a future mother-in-law. Though I’m sure that factors in somewhere.”

She shook her head but then sighed. Sandor was right. 

“...yes.”, she rolled her eyes slowly, “I am.”

“Lo and behold, the truth.”

“Gods, you're going to be insufferable now…”, Sansa muttered to the night. 

“Why did you say yes?”

A good, pointed question. He always knew where to hit for maximum damage. Sansa winced. Nobody had dare ask her that. 

“...he proposed in front of everybody.”

“Yeah, I remember… Wait. You said _yes_ …to be polite?”

Sansa threw her hands up in frustration.

“…Everybody was smiling and clapping and congratulating me before I even answered!”

Sandor took a deep breath. When his eyes wouldn’t leave her, the beat of her heart always started to quicken. “I take it back, you _are_ an idiot.”

“Hey! What would you have done in my place?”

“Not date Joffrey Baratheon, for one.”

“He wasn't always like that.”

“I knew him before you did, yes he was.”

“I can't do anything right, huh? That just confirms what you think. I’m an idiot who got what was coming to her, right?”

She laid back down. Maybe there could be a semblance of peace inward, far from the openness of the sky and Sandor’s unrelentness. 

“Stop saying I don’t like you.” 

She shrugged, dangerously close to crying. Why was she getting so worked up about this? “I get that you have an aesthetic to play by, harsh guy and whatnot, but you've always been acting like an asshole. Always had something to say about me, or my opinions, or my outfits. Nothing I could do was good enough for you.” She pointed a finger at him, trying to add weight to her words. He was shaking his head at everything she said. “ _You_ were rude to _me_. For no reason.”

“You’ll excuse me for not indulging the charade.”, he rose up to intimidate her a little bit more, “You're so used to playing the empty headed, vain, dutiful girlfriend for that brat that you're forgetting you're not an idiot.”

She frowned, untangling his insult from his compliment. If she hadn’t known him, she might have thought...

Her history with Sandor was a complicated one. From the get go, he had decided she was not worth the benefit of the doubt. His coldness was beyond the bounds of introversion. She had first thought he was awkward around girls, especially with his scars. But no, he was like that just for her. He wanted her to feel bad in his presence. 

Worse, his actions contradicted his words every time the moment mattered, and she couldn’t make sense of him. 

One summer, she had slipped on a patch of moss during a hike and twisted her ankle. Sandor had been the one to properly wrap her leg and carry her back up the trail to the car, all 3 miles of it. Not forgetting to colourfully comment on her perfectly suiting choice of footwear. Sandor’s attitude had only improved when she had let him know what she thought of his drinking. He drank about as much as the others in the group, too much. But the way he held the bottle did not fool her. He needed it. One day, after another one of his comments, she had snapped. She regretted the words as soon she voiced them. But it had changed his attitude towards her, he had cut back. He had been _nice_ , as nice as he could be, anyway.   
It was as if he had only waited for her honesty, however harsh. Things had improved between them for a few weeks.

Too much, actually. Every moment alone with him was charged with crackling electricity, the prickling knowledge of the exact number of centimeters that separated them. Those weeks blessed her with two, or three -or fifteen- particularly vivid wet dreams, not starring her long time boyfriend, but his hulking, brooding, confusing giant friend, his eyes the color of brushed steel and his big, _big_ hands. 

And then, Sandor’s brother had died in a bar brawl. 

When the phone call came with the news, Sandor had found the nearest chair to collapse unto. He was pale as a ghost and his breaths were coming hard like his throat was closing up. Sansa had offered condolences. Even though she knew they were not close; Sandor might be hard but Gregor was _dangerous_ ; but this was the thing to do. The way Sandor had looked at her had chilled her to the bone, like he would throttle her where she stood for one more word. Sansa had taken her offered hand back like he had burned her, even if she had not even been touching him. 

After that the rift between them was deeper than ever. They were back to that unstable, mistrusting place away from the temptation and the stolen glances.

Yet when Bran had his accident last year, Sandor had been the only one of Joffrey’s friends to regularly ask about her brother’s recovery. And to be sincere. 

Sansa always had the frustrating feeling they could be friends, close friends, if he simply forgot to be an ass.

“You were an asshole to me because I… disappointed you? So you would have let me marry him without telling me anything?”

“You would have gone through with it?”, his retort was fast and inescapable, like the man. 

“I don't know!” The scream surprised even her and she immediately looked away, her hands on her mouth and tears in her eyes, but the echo the water threw back at her wouldn't let her forget her confession so easily. 

This was the uncomfortable truth. Probably what had made sleep so difficult lately. She had not thought it would get this far with Joffrey in the first place. She couldn’t break up with him without a good reason, could she? The proposal had completely taken her by surprise, they were supposed to drift apart naturally. But this relationship had been like sticking her finger in the gears of a machine, it never stopped pulling her forward, taking more and more of her. Until she couldn’t free herself without great harm. 

“You didn't answer me.”, she mumbled to redirect the blame at him. 

“...no.” His tone was more serious than playful now. Sansa wished she could snap a picture for science, for cryptozoology. “I would have told you. I just wanted to be sure you'd not forgive him.”

She nodded. Surely to him his behavior made sense. 

“Sandor? Why aren't we friends?” All those wasted years circling one another distrustfully. 

“What?”

“Why couldn't we be friends? There’s literally no reason we shouldn’t.”

He scoffed. “You'd have to ignore my late night texts.”

“What?”

He jumped down from the hood of his car. “Nevermind. You want to get back at him?”

“...I am. Right now.”

His gaze hardened, Gods, he could be terrifying when he wanted to. She pointed to the back of the truck. “Only one of the suitcases is mine. Did you think I really needed this many clothes?” The look of genuine surprise on his face pleased her, she found out. “I left the wallet because he would sue for that. But he can kiss goodbye his designer jeans. Whatever he was wearing when he went to f… when he went with Margaery, that's all he's got left.”

Sandor smirked _again_ and a blush crept up Sansa’s cheeks. She didn’t know he could smile like that. Sandor cocked his head towards the lake behind him, his eyes ineluctable. 

“What?”

“You know you want to do it.” 

“...do what?”, she blurted out, pushing past the lump in her throat. 

“You've got a suitcase of clothes that must disappear and there's a lake.”

She laughed and jumped down the hood to go get the suitcase. “I knew you would be useful.”

Bunched inside the suitcase was the shell of Joffrey Baratheon’s carefully crafted social persona. Sansa hated it, almost as much as she hated the actual man.

“Goodbye promotional fitted cap. I would donate you to charity but that would not do anyone any good.”, she flung it in the water with a flick of the wrist. The way it soared into the empty air would probably be the only moment of grace in its short existence of Casterly Rock’s Wildcats memorabilia. 

Sandor picked a neon yellow track suit from the suitcase like it was nuclear waste. 

“I remember when he bought that. It was the first time I realized what I had really gotten myself into.”

She took it from his hands and threw it as far as she could. The movement, too hurried, made her lose her balance and she felt herself tip forward to the dark waters below. But before she could fall, Sandor caught her by the belt of her jeans and pulled her back to safety.

“Careful dummy, that's a thirty meter plunge.”

He kept his gigantic hands on her arms, still making sure she would not fall. Sansa turned to face him, mock indignation on her face despite her heart beating furiously. For a second, she did think she was going to fall. 

“Insult me one more time, and I'll leave with your truck.”

He leaned over her, fixing on her his well practiced look of offense as a defence. But it didn’t fool her now, she was coming to understand his little game. 

“Idiot.”

“Asshole.”

Sansa stayed very still, forcing him to hold her gaze, making time drag. 

She saw all of him now. 

Then as fast as she could, she grabbed the round trinket that poked out of his pocket and keys in hand she ran past him. Sandor caught her by the waist without having to take a step. Damn those long arms. 

“Let me go!”, she laughed but he lifted her and turned her around. Her mouth found his in the near darkness. 

She kissed him the way he talked, without waiting for permission, a little too hard and forcing silence. But also gently, nervously. Her feet were off the ground in more ways than one and there was an overwhelming way he leaned into her, like he could not resist the pull. 

Sansa realized how much she had wanted that. How much she liked it when he let his body do the talking. The push of his mouth on hers. The hard hook of his nose against hers. The tickle of his hair falling on her face. The all encompassing pressing of his body. Even the smell of a freshly washed cotton t-shirt. She was falling. 

“This is why we can’t be friends.”, he murmured low after what had been too short minutes. His forehead was against hers and his voice was a dejected whisper. 

“Sandor, I-" 

“Because soon, you'll be done getting back at him, and I'll still remember that kiss.” 

Sansa’s breath caught and she blinked in disbelief. His words bit hard, but she could not expect less from him. He put her down on her feet and suddenly her own weight crushed her. She couldn't meet his eyes again. She couldn’t tell if what she felt was anger or hurt, or every emotion on that spectrum, but she couldn’t escape his words. 

“You really think the worst of me after all.” 

Her voice seemed small in his silence and the rustle of the leaves. For a time, there was only the soft breeze that caressed the water to cling to. 

Tears stung and she fought them. She'd be damned if he saw her cry. She put his keys back in his hand, her cheeks burning with shame. She pushed away from him and he let her walk away. How could he say something like that and still hold her in his arms. She didn't care that it had been envy all along, that she had finally cracked the mystery of Sandor and his terrible moods, she just wanted to be away from him, if that was what he truly thought of her. 

She didn’t remember climbing back into the truck, driving away. In the rearview mirror the suitcase had disappeared from the cliff. Sandor looked far ahead and so did she, refusing to wipe the tears, lest he saw she was crying. They rode in silence for two hours, the pressure of his lips lingering on hers like a stubborn ghost. A phantom kiss as double exposure on reality. The only soundtrack was the broken radio, her struggle to keep her breaths even and the protest of the steering wheel’s leather under his gripping fingers. She would not look at him. 

“Thank you for the ride.”, she muttered when he pulled up outside her apartment. 

She slammed the door behind her, not waiting for an answer. She took her suitcase from the back of his truck and not once looked back. At her door, she tore through her bag for the keys, her fingers trembling, the rhythmic rumble of the truck’s engine behind her. The sobs were coming fast and the tears were searing a path down her cheeks. 

She could still hear the motor after getting inside. After climbing up the stairway. It still ran on when she got off the phone with Arya, when she got out of the scolding shower. 

When Sansa hid into bed and finally turned off the light, the engine’s music disappeared at the corner. 

**Author's Note:**

> My dictionary says ‘unrelentness’ is not a real word, but it should, so it’s staying where i wrote it
> 
> Please don't throw breakup mementos in bodies of water, recycle or donate what you stole from your cheating fiance


End file.
